


On His Knees

by thekeyholder



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Jim, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 04, Top!Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: After he's cured of the Tetch virus, Jim realises he's been incredibly disdainful to Oswald while under its influence. He wants to make it up to the gangster, but Oswald busies himself with the opening of the Iceberg Lounge. Jim might have to appeal to more persuasive methods.





	On His Knees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoxSteel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxSteel/gifts).



> Foxsteel and I did a Valentine's exchange. I hope you enjoy some top!Oswald ;)

Sometimes Jim Gordon believes the default feeling of his life is shame. Crushing, destabilising shame. It has certainly been the case ever since he got the antidote for the virus and had to confront all the things he did under its influence. If, even, he could call it influence and not secret dark wishes, things that flashed through his mind in the middle of the night, which were then forever banished to a room and locked tenfold.

 

The virus simply took over his mind, kicked in all the doors and released the nightmares from the darkest recess, letting them all fly around freely, unabashedly, like the bad things that escaped from Pandora’s box.

 

_Kill Penguin._

 

He was close to doing it, so embarrassingly close. Not that he would have gone through with it, at least that’s what he's telling himself as he watches Oswald’s face become red while he’s yelling at an underling. His face was just as red when Jim lifted him up by his neck and almost strangled him. The eyes, god, how they pleaded! How didn't he go up in flames with shame the very moment he was back to himself?

 

Jim leaves before he's spotted. He knows he wouldn't be well-received, he's tried before. Oswald didn't even acknowledge him, it was his security guy telling Jim to leave because he was not welcome. In public, Oswald turns his head away, and each time it feels as if Jim’s heart shatters into a million of pieces. He gazes at Oswald for the last time, then looks down ashamed, before quickly leaving the neighbourhood.

 

He can't stay away for long, though. Jim is slowly rebuilding the things and relationships he ruined while he had the virus, and the only missing link is Oswald Cobblepot. Guilt is eating him alive. He knows he's been so incredibly vile, when he actually really likes Oswald and his brilliant mind. He thinks about it often, how they would surely be friends if they met in different circumstances.

 

There are only five days until the Iceberg Lounge is supposed to open its gates to the public. Jim stands on the other side of the road for a long while, watching construction workers file out of the club. Things calm down after that, there's no other movement. Jim stares at the building, hopes it's not as empty as it seems.

 

Inside, it's sleek and classy, mostly black, accented with silver and gold. Proudly, Jim asserts that this is _really_ Oswald. His first club was nice too, but still had Fish Mooney written all over it. This is bolder and bears Oswald's style alone, refined and sophisticated.

 

The detective looks left and right, expecting a blow to his head from hidden security staff. Such an exclusive place will surely need to abound with them. However, no secret fighter seems to jump at him, so Jim huffs. Shouldn't it be better guarded? What if someone were to attack Oswald?

 

“Are you going to stand there forever?”

 

Jim flinches. It's Oswald, but where is he hiding? Then he finally sees the unmistakable outline of the gangster under a blue, neon umbrella, sipping on some expensive drink.

 

These are the first words Oswald has directly addressed to Jim since that ill-fated day when he tried to exchange Oswald for Tetch. A cold shiver runs down his spine as he slowly approaches the armchair. He's not worthy to be in Oswald's presence, and has no good excuse for this breach.

 

Oswald must think the same, for he examines Jim with raised eyebrows, from head to toe, and then sighs, as if he has given up on a hopeless case.

 

Jim falls to his knees, feels suddenly more in balance now that he’s in the right position, and Oswald watches him as he gets closer by shuffling on his knees. He would have never done this before, but Jim knows he has to seriously grovel this time.

 

Funny thing, the virus: it makes you realise what you really want, and all Jim wants is to be on good terms again with Oswald. Will bend as much as he can, until his shame is absolved, and he can hold his head high again. It doesn’t matter that Oswald is not even looking at him, Jim tells himself, loud enough in his head that he hears it over the erratic thumping of his heart.

 

“I came to apologise. For everything.”

 

Jim hates it how flawless Oswald looks, just sitting there in his expensive suit, sipping his fancy drink while he's trying his best to squeeze out words with hard edges that cut him up from all the sides. Oswald doesn't even look at him.

 

“Please, Oswald…”

 

“Oh, I'm sorry, were you saying something?”

 

How can he be so facetious? Especially now?

 

Jim supposes he deserves it, though, all those times he's ignored Oswald's pleas coming back in vivid details. But Oswald is a much better person than he's ever been. Jim may be selfish, but he's counting on the gangster's soft heart. He captures Oswald's hand and kisses it with feeling, doesn't let go as his lips press a kiss to the delicate skin, then murmur an apology, then kiss again. Jim has seen these hands marred by blood so many times, but they can also be gentle and shake with the slightest emotion.

 

Before he fears he'd have to go on forever, Oswald reaches out and grabs his tie, yanking it such a way that Jim has to look upwards, directly into Oswald's all-knowing gaze.

 

“Do it properly, James,” Oswald snarls and lets go with so much force that Jim lands on all fours.

 

For a moment Jim thinks this is it, he's humiliated to the bone. He has to leave the city and never show his face again. But he realises he cannot fall lower, so why not fight for what he actually _wants_ for once.

 

In an instant of madness, Jim bends lower and kisses the tip of Oswald's shoe. Right one first, then the left. There's no air in the room, no sound. Jim wipes his mouth slowly and meticulously; he is afraid to raise his eyes, afraid to be confronted with something he's never seen in Oswald's eyes: rejection.

 

He gathers enough courage to risk a glance and he could weep. The only discernible emotion is shock on Oswald's face. He beckons for Jim to go closer, like a god reaching out to a mere mortal.

 

“Why are you really here, Jim?”

 

The detective is at a loss. He knows the reason, and he's tried telling Oswald, but he was met with disbelief. He thinks about apologising again, but maybe Oswald would push him away, thinking that he's lying. He's always been a man of actions.

 

“Hmm?” Oswald leans forward, waiting for a reply.

 

Jim leans forward as well, places a tentative kiss on Oswald's lips, sweet and innocent, leaning back on his calves, waiting for a reaction. There's a gasp, one that sounds like an expression of pleasant surprise, and his heart goes mad with hope. Oswald reaches out and cups his face, his gaze hard again and searching, looking into his very soul.

 

He knows he's been incredibly mean, and quite honestly, he does not deserve Oswald's trust, but Jim needs it. Oswald and he just go so well, the bond between them cannot and shouldn't be broken. So Jim sits there, gazes back with honesty and openness.

 

It feels like an eternity until Oswald's thumb starts caressing his cheek, and he sighs with relief, the small gesture shaking his entire being. Jim holds the warm hand and nuzzles against it like a touch-starved stray cat.

 

“Forgive me,” he says over and over, until his lips are numb and Oswald silences him with his own, words smashed between their mouths.

 

Jim loses himself and every notion of time, the only things he's conscious of are the softness of Oswald's lips and the trace of sweet alcohol on his tongue, reminding him of cherries. His fingers grab anything they can, Oswald's exquisite suit mostly, the fine fabric under Jim's fingertips reminding him of his own lowness.

 

For a moment he is a monster again, forcing himself on Oswald like this, taking advantage of his forgiving nature. It's like he's learnt nothing in the past few weeks. Jim ends the kiss, but can't bring himself to put any distance between them, leaning against Oswald's forehead.

 

“Why did you stop?” Oswald's whispered words caress his lips and Jim hides in the crook of his neck, fingers tightening in Oswald's suit even more.

 

Embarrassingly, a sob escapes his mouth, and his tears come unbidden, ruining Oswald's shirt. He knows he's upsetting the gangster their peace being fragile at best anyway, but he cannot stop.

 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says between sobs, and he means everything, not just the stupid shirt.

 

There's a hand at the back of his head, hesitant at first, then the fingers comb through his hair in a soothing rhythm, and Oswald kisses his temple. “It's alright, Jim.”

 

Jim's lips find Oswald's, the sweetness of their kisses mixes with his tears, though they are still the best things he's ever been given. Oswald tugs him up and so Jim ends up in the gangster's lap, straddling him. He can't help sniffling, humbled by this privileged position. Oswald’s perfume is divine, and he takes big gulps, lets the cool scent cloud his brain.  

 

Oswald looks so good, so majestic. He’d deserve to be put on a pedestal and worshipped. The best Jim can do is kiss his neck and elicit those beautiful sounds as Oswald leans against the silver fabric of the armchair, exposing his alabaster skin. Jim’s lips burn, kiss after kiss, but he undoes Oswald’s tie and pops open some buttons for more skin. He’s undone by a peek of collarbone already, but Oswald stops him and points at Jim’s own shirt.

 

Obediently, he takes off his suit coat and starts undoing his shirt buttons, cheeks heating as he notices Oswald’s rapt attention. His fingers may tremble after that, but if Oswald sees it he makes no note, fingers tracing abstract patterns on Jim’s chest. There’s something so innocent about it that Jim can barely hold the sweet ache that unfolds inside him. The thought that he almost destroyed this makes Jim lean in for a reassuring kiss, his enthusiasm reflected by Oswald.

 

Soon, their hands are roaming more desperately and their kisses carry the passion that has been building up for years now. Jim is thrusting forward, trying to find some friction against Oswald’s thigh. He would feel embarrassed if it weren't for Oswald's clinging or his answering bucking, his arousal so evident now.

 

“Please, Oswald,” Jim whispers and Oswald nods, shakily reaches for his belt.

 

Jim does the same, and he's impatient, curses when Oswald's buttons don't give in so easily. Oswald helps him, giggling as he brushes Jim's fingers away. Jim kisses the sweet sound from his lips, wants to keep it forever, even as his thoughts become muddled with Oswald's curious fingers pressing against him.

 

Jim wants to make Oswald feel just as good, so he tugs his underwear down, and takes Oswald into his hand. Oswald claims his lips, holding Jim by his chin, then slips the tip of his index finger finger into his mouth. Jim hums surprised around it, looks into Oswald's eye as he sucks on it and then a second finger is added. Jim wets them well, never looks away from the gangster's heated gaze. Oswald takes them out, continues watching Jim’s face as his fingers slip into his cleft, circling his entrance.

 

Jim catches Oswald's shoulder, lips parting at the sensation. He's fooled around with guys before, but it never went this far. It comes naturally to submit to Oswald and let him take control, though. It feels great to mould his body to Oswald's, to press his ass against Oswald's cock and arch up as the gangster holds onto his hips.

 

Oswald is so hard against him, and Jim just puts his arms around his neck, feels the heat coming off him. His cock is trapped between their bodies, but Oswald doesn't forget about him, never does, and soon Jim is overwhelmed as Oswald pleasures him on two fronts, his fingers encircling Jim’s cock.

 

If it weren’t for the tremor building in his thighs, Jim would think this is all a dream, one of the fantasies taunting him, but Oswald is right there underneath him, thrusting between his cheeks, and Jim is ready to lose his mind to pleasure. He kisses Oswald, his tongue imitating their rhythm, and the gangster moans long and hard.

 

The sound goes straight to Jim’s cock and Oswald grins against his lips, conscious of the power he has over Jim. He twists his hand just so, making Jim tighten his hold around him even more. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of Jim’s face and his hair falls forward, getting plastered to his forehead. Oswald reaches out and swipes it back, the look in his eyes so affectionate Jim can hardly stand it.

 

Oswald always looks so fucking good, but particularly so now with his crimson cheeks and lips, pupils blown wide with pleasure. Jim moves a hand to the back of Oswald’s head, holds on tight. There’s a thought nagging him, the fear of this being a one-time thing. “I want you inside of me,” he murmurs in Oswald’s ear.

 

The gangster lets out a surprised sound and his thrusts fall out of rhythm. Jim doesn’t expect a response, but Oswald turns Jim’s head so they can look at each other.

 

“Next time,” Oswald says, or rather inquiries quietly and Jim forgets how to breathe for a second, then nods fast and they seal it with a fierce kiss.

 

They’re both close and Jim places his hand over Oswald’s to guide the pace, the gangster’s name all over his lips as he comes between their joined hands. Oswald holds Jim’s hips as he rides out his orgasm, Jim gasping as he feels Oswald’s warm come trickle between his cheeks. It’s so filthy, but he doesn’t care. Oswald leans against the armchair and Jim follows, drapes himself over Oswald’s chest. The gangster kisses the top of his head and lazily strokes his back.

 

Jim is about to get up and find something to clean them, but Oswald stops him. “This was a very good start, James, but you’re not done apologising. I intend to collect the whole debt. So don’t run away just yet.”

 

Jim nods dutifully. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

They both smile as Jim kisses his promise onto Oswald’s lips.


End file.
